Another Option
by Yanagi Uxinta
Summary: After hearing the truth of the Champion's tale, the Seeker has just as many questions, and fewer answers. The Champion is missing. The Warden is missing. But there was one person with the Champion at the end, and he is as desperate for answers as she is.
1. Chapter 1

This is a little idea triggered by a post on the Dragon Age Wiki forums - someone theorised that the Seeker could interrogate other members of Hawke's party (I have no idea who though, so shout out to you if you said that!). My imagination then kicked that up a notch and came up with this: the Seeker searching for answers from Hawke's LI...who of course is the only one not to leave Hawke at the end. This fic then came to me and I wrote it in one sitting. Other than a spell check, this hasn't been proof-read so if you see any errors, please tell me so I can correct them! Thank you, and enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **All characters and settings belong to Bioware.

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><p>She'd known that the tales the public were so fond of were not true. To them, the Champion was a legend; almost mythical. She had ceased to be a simple human and had been elevated to a being of immense power and impossible capability. But what she'd learnt from the dwarf had turned even her own suspicions on their head. The Champion...wasn't responsible. The woman had even tried to quell the budding war; tried not to take sides. But despite the Seeker's recent revelations, she was still certain of one thing: the Champion was the key to ending this war before it truly began.<p>

As she walked away from the Champion's old estate, the rhythmic beat of her soldiers' boots against the paved streets forming a familiar background noise, Cassandra Pentaghast returned her thoughts to the one point the dwarf had let slip. Another option.

Not all had left the Champion.

It took quite a few weeks for the reports to start to filter through; of the lone elf with the silvery tattoos. He never lingered; appearing briefly in a town, to buy food or stay a single night, then moving on, always leaving people talking in hushed whispers. But slowly, a pattern was emerging.

He was moving towards Kirkwall.

Though two tense months had passed from the first report arriving to him finally reaching Kirkwall, the wait was worth it. The Seeker had let him reach the city, monitoring him carefully. She wasn't surprised when he made contact with the storyteller, Varric, in what was apparently their old haunt – The Hanged Man.

Rather than his old master's mansion, however, the elf retired to the Amell estate as night fell. It was there Cassandra went, leaving her guards in the foyer. When she found him, the elf was standing in one of the bedrooms, looking at the dust-clogged fireplace, apparently as entranced as he would have been had a fire danced there. A great sword rested against the mantle; matte black from the pommel to the tip of the blade.

He didn't seem surprised when she entered. He gave no sign of hearing her until he spoke.

"You wish to speak with me, Seeker? Varric said that you'd been watching my movements closely. It is good fortune for you that Varric's informants are so reliable, otherwise you and your men would not have entered this house safely." He gave a low, darkly amused laugh, finally half-turning to face her. Though she expected to see them, his lyrium veins were still unnerving to see, especially coupled with the cold cast to his eyes that contrasted sharply with the faint tilt of his mouth. "You certainly wouldn't have left here breathing,"

Cassandra drew herself up, refusing to be intimidated.

"Are you threatening me, elf?" She demanded, though made no move to draw a weapon. He just smiled emotionlessly and turned to face her fully.

"Only if you are threatening me with your twenty men downstairs," He said, dry but honest. After a beat of holding his eyes, Cassandra nodded in understanding and relaxed enough to lean against the wall, arms folded. Similarly, Fenris walked around the giant four-poster to face her as sat on the edge of the Champion's bed, hands clasped loosely as he rested his elbows on his knees. A glimmer of red stood out from his dark armour; a scarlet band around his right wrist.

"What was it you wished to know, human?" He sounded suddenly weary, as if now they were under an uneasy truce he could show the bone-deep exhaustion eating at him.

"Varric said that you still travelled with the Champion. I am searching for her. Do you know where she is?" She asked, and saw just an instant of pain flicker across his face before he wiped it away with a sigh and a nod to himself, as if confirming something.

"The dwarf said as much." He murmured, before raising his eyes to meet hers. "I cannot help you, Seeker. I know as much as you do," Again that bitterness had crept into his voice, the grief.

For a moment, Cassandra heard the loss in his voice and thought the worst.

"Varric said that the Champion was alive. He said that of all her companions, you were the one who refused to leave. What changed?" The tone of demand was starting to wrestle with her reluctance to antagonise the elf. They _had_ to find the Champion, before this war tore the world apart. Fenris had passed a gauntleted hand over his eyes as she spoke, as if not wanting to think about any of it.

"Hawke...the Champion was alive when I last saw her." Cassandra watched, surprised. The elf had lowered his voice to keep it steady, closing his eyes on his memories. On a softly expulsed breath, he whispered, "Maker, I hope she still is," When his deep green eyes were revealed again, he took a steeling breath and sat up straighter to address the Seeker directly. "We did not part company willingly. When we fled Kirkwall, our company headed north. We didn't have a set destination in mind...we were too concerned with avoiding the Templars and the battles. We all agreed that it was in our best interests to disappear for a while. As you know, people started leaving as they each found some cause to follow. Isabela and Merrill left first, I believe. The pirate planned to circle around back to Kirkwall and take back her ship, in the hopes that Kirkwall had become less treacherous in the time we'd been running. She was going to sail to Antiva and lay low there for a while. The blood mage wanted to go with her – the two had always gotten on well, like sisters. Having the Dalish along would have been good for Isabela, I imagine. She would have been more cautious." Even as he said the words, he gave a doubtful snort. Caution wasn't one of Isabela's strong points.

"While we were in the Vimmark Mountains, Aveline and Donnic went west towards Orlais. They'd spent some time there on their honeymoon; they felt they'd be safe there for a while. We had to give Starkhaven a wide berth; Sebastian was still out for Anders' blood. Personally I wouldn't have minded leaving the abomination at the Prince's door, but we were all wary that his vendetta would extend to Hawke and the rest of us, by association. So, we travelled east along the Minanter River, trying to find a safe place to cross. We encountered a small group of apostates trying to do the same thing; all but one were apprentices. The single enchanter had managed to get them out of the Kirkwall Circle before it fell; she knew Bethany from her years in the Gallows. Once we crossed the river and reached the vicinity of Ansburg, the mages decided to split from us and flee to the Green Dales. Anders and Bethany went with them. I think the abomination was trying to atone for some of the damage he'd done by helping them out, and Bethany stayed with him. They were both safer in a group, and one not associated with us. That left me, Hawke and Varric heading for the Weyrs, then Antiva. We'd decided at some point along the road to try and find Isabela and Merrill in Antiva City, but as we did the Templars found us. Varric was on board the ship, but Hawke and I had been out in the city. We told Isabela to cast off; she wouldn't." He sighed, shaking his head. "Her conscience has wonderful timing," He muttered, though there was a begrudging respect in his tone, Cassandra noticed. He lifted his eyes to hers again as he continued, forcefully driving detachment into his voice.

"We cut the ropes and broke the gangway so that the Templars couldn't get onto the ship. Obviously, that meant we couldn't board it either. Isabela had to take control or be cast adrift. Merrill froze the Templars from the ship, which gave us some time to run. It took us quite some time to lose them; we were chased to the Arlathan Forest where we finally shook their pursuit." Here he paused, and Cassandra sensed that he was steeling himself to tell the critical point, when the Champion had gone. "We couldn't travel any further north. We considered trying to reach a port and travel to Seheron. Maybe even go to the Fog Warriors. They would not demand we convert to the Qun; yet they would defend us loyally should the Templars come looking that far for us. We were even looking forward to it; we'd be free for the first time in months. We could stop running," For an instant, a genuine smile flickered to life on his tired face. He'd taken to absent-mindedly brushing a thumb over the red band at his wrist, with the distracted air of someone who didn't realise their own actions. Then his face darkened again and the light went out of his eyes. "The only problem was reaching a port town; the closest was Carastes in the Imperium. Both of us were loathe to go any closer to that place; we were practically on the border as it was. The next port in the opposite direction was Kont-arr in the Rivain, but to reach it we would have to cross back into Antiva, where we'd been actively hunted just days before." He sighed, standing and pacing quietly to the window, resting against the wall and looking out at High Town. It was almost unrecognisable from his time there; the battle had hit this area hard. The nobles rank hadn't spared them this time. Even after all these months, the tiles were cracked from toppled statues, the once lush plants withered and uncared for. Houses had clearly been ransacked; doors hanging off hinges, windows smashed in. Fenris smiled humourlessly. His old mansion had only been spared because it was already picked clean, short of a few pieces of heavy furniture that no thief would bother with. The home he stood in was spared by everything except dust out of fear and respect. It was as if people thought they would be cursed if they stole from the old Champion's estate, likening it to haunted tombs of ancient, superstitious Kings. Hawke would have laughed to hear the wild tales that bore her name now. They were getting quite ridiculous.

Hawke.

For a long moment, Fenris bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut.

The Seeker shifted, no doubt desperate to break the suspense of his tale but knowing enough to stay silent until he spoke. Lifting his eyes to the night sky, Fenris continued, his voice resigned, weary.

"As it turned out, we didn't have to choose between the two ports. There was a storm; we were searching the forest for somewhere to shelter before it broke. We finally found some half-destroyed ruin. It had half a roof, and the rest of the room had a thick canopy that barely let any rain in. It was enough to weather the storm in. Despite the thunder and the cold, we managed to sleep. But..." He shook his head slightly, as if in wonder at a long-standing question he still did not have the answer to. His hand had curled into a fist, as if trying to drive away the memory. He'd fallen silent, as if hesitating to relive the event. Quietly, respectfully, Cassandra prompted him.

"But?" She asked. He glanced sharply over at her, before nodding as if to remind himself of his surroundings and continuing.

"That night was...strange. Such odd dreams...we woke several times during the night, both from an experience too real to be a simple dream. After the second time, we decided not to sleep – we'd rest the next day, when we were out of the forest. Yet we couldn't keep our eyes open; it was like being drugged or sent to sleep with a spell. That final dream I don't remember much of, but the last part I was in the ruins, but in that odd light of the Fade. There were two women there. When I saw the first, for a moment I thought it was Hawke, there was such a similarity. The second stood back, and didn't speak throughout the exchange. She had eyes like a hawk; amber and watchful. The first woman stepped forward and said not to worry, that they were with Hawke. I distinctly remember her saying that 'she would let no harm come to her cousin. The Amells have lost enough without losing her too.' She told me not to look for Hawke when I woke; I wouldn't find her. Then she turned, revealing a large mirror some way behind her. It was like the one the blood mage kept in her house; an eluvian. The women walked towards it, then straight through it. I admit, I panicked. I tried to wake up; but couldn't. I knew I had to; that Hawke was in trouble, but nothing I did would release me from the dream. I tried passing through the eluvian after the women, but when I touched it, it was just glass. I ran through the ruins, trying to find an exit, and found the room Hawke and I had fallen asleep in. I-" He stopped abruptly, had to start again. There was a tone of disbelief lingering in his voice. Disbelief and...something else. Finally, Cassandra placed the rough emotion.

Pain.

"I was lying there, asleep. I was looking at myself. But Hawke wasn't there. I tried to wake myself, and finally as I was shouting I woke. But too late," His voice dropped, became even quieter, rougher. The bitterness was back. "She was gone. I searched everywhere; every corridor in the ruins, shouting past every pile of rocks in case she'd been trapped behind them. I went outside, but there weren't even any footsteps in the mud to follow. I searched the forest anyway, but to no avail. Whatever had happened to her had happened in the ruins." His voice became distant as he fell deeper into his thoughts. His eyes were glazed, their focus in a distant forest as he searched for his love. "I left, eventually. I knew she wasn't there. I wasn't going to go to Seheron without her, so I followed the only route available to me: I went south, avoiding both the Imperium and Antiva. I wandered aimlessly for a time, not knowing where to go or do, other than stay as invisible as possible. Eventually, I remembered something. Varric had shouted to us as the ship moved off, back in Antiva. 'Ostwick. Find us in Ostwick.' It was very close to Kirkwall, but it was a clever gambit. Fugitives try to get as far away from the place they ran from as possible; so to go to the next closest town was unexpected; if we were careful, it should be safe enough. I headed there, trying to stick to the small hamlets and towns on the occasions I needed to buy or steal food, or seek shelter from the weather. When I arrived, I found Isabela and Merrill at the local bar. Apparently," Here he sent a wry glance at the short-haired woman across the room. She just looked at him levelly, knowing now what was coming. "Some Seekers of Truth had burst in one night. The two had been upstairs playing cards, but Varric was downstairs spinning his tales. These Seekers apprehended Varric and left. Of course, this being Isabela, she told Merrill to stay in the inn and slipped out of the window. For highly trained agents, your men were apparently very easy to follow. Unobservant, too – Varric saw Isabela shadowing the group, but none of your men so much as glanced backwards." Fenris was baiting her, and it was starting to tell. Cassandra was frowning, and snapped brusquely at him.

"Continue your tale, elf. My men's training is no concern of yours." Ignoring his dry smirk took some self-control, but Cassandra managed to curb her tongue until he deigned to speak again.

"Isabela heard the men speaking of Kirkwall. On her own, she couldn't challenge all of the Seekers – even Isabela knows a lost cause when she sees one. So she returned to the Inn and continued what they'd been doing – lying low. Only this time, Isabela put Varric's contacts to use. She confirmed that he'd been taken to Kirkwall; she knew when he arrived, and where in the city he was taken. This very building, as I understand," Fenris sent the Seeker a questioning look, but she didn't give him a clue either way, simply staring at him and waiting for him to continue. Taking the hint, he smiled and looked back out of the window, raising his voice so she could still hear him clearly.

"When I arrived, Isabela and Merrill directed me here. The pirate told me that Varric had been released, but was apparently staying in Kirkwall. She also told me that your focus had shifted." He turned now, leaning easily against the windowsill, arms folded, mirroring her earlier stance. His smile was darkly challenging. "Shifted to me, that is." Finally, Cassandra nodded.

"I thought that you would be able to tell us more about the Champion; being as close to her as you were," She expanded. He lifted his head, scrutinising her with narrowed eyes.

"'Are', human, not 'were'. I am almost certain she is alive, so do _not_ speak as if she is dead," He murmured quietly, with such an undercurrent of danger that Cassandra took a half step back. Her heel hit the wall. Silently, she cursed at the flicker of a smile that fluttered across his face at her action. She could easily see why his appearance would intimidate others, even as she straightened her back and glowered at him.

"Tell me more about these women in the Fade." She demanded. A suspicion had started to form at the back of her mind and she wanted it confirmed.

Fenris rolled his eyes to the ceiling before closing them with an irritated sigh.

"As I said, the first – the one who spoke – was very like Hawke, and called her a cousin. She had dark hair, to her shoulders. Blue eyes...very similar to Leandra's, in fact. Pale skin, like Hawke. She wore a single earring; I remember thinking it a bit odd. The second had dark hair; held up in some sort of bun and wore...revealing clothes. The leggings and belts she wore looked like leather, but not the highly treated, glossy kind you used to see in High Town. She wore dark make-up; purple eyebrows and lips. She was pale too, and looked distinctly mistrustful as I recall. Both were mages; they wielded staffs. I would have placed the first as a Circle mage from her robes, but the second was almost definitely an apostate." The elf lowered his eyes to Cassandra's again and raised a dark eyebrow. "Is that detailed enough, Seeker?"

She nodded, a rare smile breaching her lips.

"It is sufficient, but for one thing. Have you any idea who these women might have been?" She asked, her eyes not daring to show the triumph she felt. She was right, she was certain of it.

She saw a glimmer of realisation in the elf's eyes, before he veiled it with an air of speculation.

"I have heard quite a few rumours as I travelled, many from Varric. He catered to his audience, and there were two tales in particular he was asked to tell. That of the Champion of Kirkwall...and that of the Hero of Ferelden. Both are women, both belong to the Amell family. From what I've heard of the Warden, she appeared quite similar to her cousin. Of her many companions, one was a fabled Witch of the Wilds; an apostate from the Korcari Wilds, rumoured to be the daughter of Asha'bellanar; the Flemeth of Ferelden legend. By all accounts, she was a match for Isabela – desired and feared by many, in equal amounts. I wouldn't presume anything, but the second woman in that dream looked as though she stepped straight out of the Wilds, and her eyes were very similar to those of the old shape shifter. If pressed for an answer, I would say that the two women were the Hero of Ferelden, and Morrigan, Witch of the Wilds."

Cassandra nodded, shifting. She was suddenly impatient to leave – she had learned a lot in the past hour or so, and needed to inform Leliana before they chose to act.

"Those would also be my suspicions. Fenris, thank you for this." She was genuine. This could provide a key to finding both women. However he waved a dismissive hand at her, almost scornful.

"I do not need nor want your thanks, Seeker. I only help you because you stand a good chance of finding Hawke." He moved from the window, effortlessly lifting his great sword from its place at the fire and swinging it onto his back. He caught her reflexive tensing relax and offered her a humourless smile.

"I would hardly tell you all that and place my hope in you, only to remove your head from your shoulders, human. You will keep me informed of your investigation. You will find me at the Hanged Man, or here. Do not think to exclude me from this search, Seeker. You are not the only one with contacts," He had approached her as he spoke, and only now did he release her from the bolt of his stare and turn to walk out of the door. Cassandra let her breath loose again, and followed him out. Her men relaxed their weapons from being levelled at the elf's chest at the sight of her unharmed. He hadn't been perturbed; he'd continued walking down the stairs and towards the front door. Her men, highly trained though they were, discreetly backed away from the elf as he walked by. Cassandra saw the blue glow reflecting off of their armour, and saw the gleam of lit lyrium in the veins on his arms as he walked away.

"Fenris," His name stopped him; he half turned his head to glance at her through the strands of silvery hair that obscured his face.

"The Templars will not trouble you or your associates whilst you remain in Kirkwall. The Seekers will ensure that," She promised him. It was the least she could do until his information brought up any useful leads. The elf nodded, and the lay of his shoulders softened slightly as he relaxed.

"That would be appreciated, Seeker. Thank you," His footsteps barely made any sound as he left. By the time Cassandra had given her men their orders and followed, the elf had vanished as effectively as his Hawke had.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys. I know this isn't the next chapter of TGoY, and believe me, I'm as frustrated about that as you are. However, it's been a very difficult one to write, content-wise, and it deals with a subject that I can't treat lightly, so I'm struggling with it a bit. Also, I had to focus on the last few months of university. It is at least half way, if not more, complete, and I'm hoping that publishing this chapter will help me break through and finish the TGoY one. I'll give a full apology when the chapter itself goes up, and I can only hope it won't be too long for you all. I understand that six or seven months is a long time to wait.

Regarding this one, it makes this fic officially a multi-chap, but I will stick to my plan of not updating until I've finished TGoY unless, like now, I get really stuck on that one but find this one easy to write. We get a complete change in perspectives, and a rallying call, so to speak. I hope I've written the characters accurately, as it's the first time I've wrote a lot of them. It was a nice experiment, anyway :)

Hope you enjoy. I don't think there's any warnings necessary, other than the odd bit of bad language. I've changed the rating to 'M' though, since later chapters will probably warrent it. Thanks for reading if you do!

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><p>The other templars had warned him that the first Harrowing would be the worst.<p>

They were right, until it was _her_ turn.

Solona Amell.

The most promising initiate in several years, and the young woman Cullen had been unable to keep his eyes off since he was posted in Kinloch Hold.

She'd been nervous when she entered the chamber. Sure, her face had been commendably serene – but her hands were knotting in her robes at her sides.

Still, her voice had been steady when she told the First Enchanter and Knight Commander that she was ready. She'd walked with her back straight to the pedestal, placed her hands on it... and collapsed in a flash of light.

The two leaders caught her limp form and carefully lowered her to the ground.

So far, everything was going well. She hadn't turned into an abomination the moment she entered the Fade, which was always good.

It was normal for the apprentices to twitch, as though dreaming. Solona was relatively sedate for the first few minutes, little more than her eyelids flickering.

Then, maybe ten minutes after she'd collapsed, things changed.

There was a small frown on her face, and she shifted restlessly. Stray sparks of magic snapped from her fingers, followed by embers and then snowflakes.

Irving and Greagoir swapped worried looks, and the Knight Commander waved Cullen over.

Heart sinking, Cullen approached.

"Be ready, lad. This is unusual," Irving warned.

Cullen nodded, swallowing against the nausea building in his throat as Solona twisted on the floor, her limbs jerking oddly and her eyes half-open, showing only whites.

These weren't the usual signs of possession, Cullen knew. Often they were very quick, and very violent. The initiate often wasn't powerful enough to contain the demon, and transformed into an abomination before their eyes.

Only occasionally, the mage would seem to have little difficulty, only to relax completely, then wake up on their own.

Mages who had passed their Harrowing only recovered hours later, in their chambers.

Solona only grew more agitated, at one point so many flames erupted from her hands that they were engulfed, and First Enchanter Irving narrowly avoided losing his beard.

Then she froze, her body tensed, until it slowly relaxed. She sank back against the floor, breathing heavily.

At first Cullen thought she had passed, but neither Irving nor Greagoir moved. Then he saw she was still frowning.

"Well?" The Knight-Commander asked. In response, Irving's hands crackled with white energy, and the light sank into Solona.

"She is still herself. Her Harrowing is not yet done, however," he said, his voice creaking like a badly-oiled door.

"She still has plenty of time. For something so strange to happen so early is worrying, though," Greagoir said.

Irving merely shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Even as he spoke, Solona relaxed; the frown left her face, and she slumped into true unconsciousness.

Irving tested her for possession again, and pronounced her clear.

The other templars immediately relaxed and began heading for the stairs, discussing when they were finishing their shifts. Cullen silently thanked them for their distraction – it meant they didn't notice his relieved slump.

He was the one responsible for getting Solona back to the apprentices' quarters, and he prayed to the Maker that his superior didn't notice the flush in his cheeks as he carefully carried the mage out of the Harrowing chamber.

Some of the apprentices had woken up when he brought Solona back in, and he gratefully handed her over to them. Gratefully, that is, until he heard their excited giggling and whispers as he closed the door behind him.

It was with a groan that he headed for his own quarters, thinking wearily that the apprentices were worse gossips than the templar recruits.

Of course, she'd been fully recovered the next day, and had reduced him to a stammering wreck within minutes.

Even though the memory made him cringe – he had _ran away_, for the Maker's sake – it was the one he revisited most often. It was one of the last fond memories he had before the disaster, after all.

In the years afterwards, he'd come to regret how he'd treated her when she appeared outside his prison. Even after he'd realised she was no demon, no illusion come to torment him, he had been harsh. When she had defeated Uldred, and descended the Harrowing Chamber stairs, supporting the First Enchanter between herself and the elven man who had called her a heartbreaker, Cullen had barely been able to look at her.

They hadn't spoken a word, not even when she and her party began to leave, Wynne with them. Solona had hesitated as she passed him, as though debating over saying something, but he'd turned his head away. She had remained silent, and led her group out the doors, her head bowed.

He'd not seen her again, though he heard the rumours. The 'Hero of Ferelden', they were calling her. Some said that she had taken an elven lover – an assassin, if some of the stories were to be believed.

He tried not to think about her too often – it brought back too many regrets. Yet he found himself in Kirkwall, and recovering – he thought.

Then arrived Marian Hawke.

Cullen had been unable to understand how two women could look so alike, yet not be related. There were differences, yes – Hawke had a stronger face, sharper angles. Her eyes were a brighter blue than Solona's – almost the colour of lyrium, whereas Solona's were gentler, almost grey. Hawke wasn't a mage, Solona was.

Other than that, they could have easily passed for each other.

It was only when Hawke's mother, Leandra _Amell_ petitioned the Viscount for the old Amell estate, and Hawke returned from the Deep Roads with the money to back up the claim, that Cullen put the pieces together.

All it took was making idle conversation with a few Hightown locals when he was off-duty to get the full story.

Revka Amell, Leandra's cousin, was Solona's mother. How Solona had ended up in the Ferelden Circle and not the Gallows, Cullen didn't know, but it seemed irrelevant in the end.

In the end, both women proved to be remarkable. The Hero of Ferelden, who defeated the Fifth Blight in little over a year and a half, and the Champion of Kirkwall, who drove back the Qunari, killed the Arishok in a one-on-one duel, and opposed the crazed Knight-Commander even when possessed by the red lyrium idol.

It was two years after Hawke and her group had fled, though stories crept back to Kirkwall occasionally. Most were so ridiculous Cullen dismissed them out of hand, but there were some that seemed possible – that she and her friends were moving north, that the group was splitting up. Hawke and Fenris, the elven lyrium warrior, had last been seen near the Antivan border.

He was doing paperwork when the knock on the Knight-Commander's door came.

"Come in," he called, knowing he sounded bored to sleep and unable to summon the will to care.

One of the new knights poked his head around the door.

"A couple of visitors for you, Knight-Commander," he said.

Cullen frowned, rooting around the papers on his desk to find his schedule.

"I'm not expecting anyone, am I?" He asked, finally finding the journal he was after underneath the update on the Chantry rebuild.

"No ser, but they said this was important. That you'd want to see them, ser," the knight sounded nervous at being the bearer of strange news, or maybe it was the deepening frown on Cullen's face.

"Did they say who they were?" He asked, perplexed.

"Er... not exactly. The woman said she knew you from the Ferelden Circle, ser," the knight said.

Even stranger. He couldn't think of anyone who would be in Kirkwall from the Circle... no one who would drop in to say hello if they were, anyway.

"Very well, show them in," he said slowly, setting aside his quill and covertly checking that his sword was in easy reach. In Kirkwall, it always paid to be cautious.

The knight nodded and retreated, and down the hall Cullen heard a muted voice directing the guests in.

The very first thing he noticed was that both visitors were hooded, their faces barely visible. Generally not a good sign.

Then the man closed the door and the woman lowered her hood.

Later, Cullen would excuse himself for sitting there with his mouth open, staring as Solona Amell smiled sheepishly and fidgeted with the edges of her cloak.

"Hello, Cullen."

It took her greeting to snap some awareness into him. Cullen managed to shut his mouth and finally fumbled through finding both his feet and his tongue.

"You- Solona, you- I- Oh, Maker," he groaned, hiding his face briefly behind his hands, "I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?"

"Only a little, my friend. Do not worry yourself, she has that effect on many people," her companion said as he too lowered his hood.

The Antivan elf. Assassin. Lover. Whichever.

Cullen dropped his hands to his sides, looking at them both a bit helplessly.

"Please tell me you're not here to announce another Blight? Or another demon outbreak?" He asked finally, keenly aware of the pleading note in his voice.

The elf laughed and Solona smiled.

"Nothing that dire, I assure you. I think. Am I really associated with oncoming doom around here?" She asked, and Cullen felt his cheeks warm.

"No! No, no, no. No. Just I, er, well. The last time we met, I... " he bit his tongue, and Solona looked away. Her companion looked at ease with the tension, but Cullen noticed the small step closer he took to the mage, and the hand that drifted to the small of her back.

'_Apologise. Now.'_

"I was a giant prat. I'm sorry for that, Solona, I really am," he said in a fervent rush.

Solona's head snapped up to look at him, eyes wide, then she began to shake her head quickly.

"No, no you weren't Cullen, you-"

"Actually my dear, he really _was,_" the elf said lightly, but there was no real accusation there. If anything, he looked amused by Solona's flustered face.

"I- Well, okay, maybe you were a bit," she amended, "but I _understand_, Cullen. The things you must have seen... that would crush most people. I'm surprised you handled things as well as you did, honestly," she said, her eyes tight with her own memories. Surreptitiously, or so Cullen guessed she thought, she reached for her assassin's hand, the movement mostly disguised by her cloak.

It still sent a sad little pain through his chest.

"Yes, well. We all deal with things in our own ways. Some better than others," he said quietly, nodding slightly at the two of them. They'd seen the Circle; they'd seen Uldred's crimes, and probably things as bad or worse during the Blight. Yet neither of them had broken down and started attacking the people who tried to help them, verbally or otherwise.

They all lapsed into a few seconds of silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Then the assassin got bored of reminiscing, apparently.

"Well! That is enough doom and gloom for today, no? Shall we assume you have offered us seats and glasses of brandy? Good!"

With that, he'd turned to one of the cabinets and began to rummage, while Solona groaned, smiling, hiding her face in her hands in a kind of helpless fondness.

Cullen just gaped.

"There's no brandy in here," he managed, sounding as though an ogre had just given him a love tap to the back of his head.

The Antivan stood up straight, staring at him in what – surely – was mock horror.

"No brandy? You, ser, are a stronger man than I. How else do you cope with all this paperwork?"

"Leave him alone, Zev," Solona said, obviously trying not to smile too much.

Zev... Zevran; that was it. Wynne had talked about her companions when she briefly returned to the Circle.

The elf grumbled, but soon produced a small bottle of brandy from a satchel at his side and settled himself on the arm of the one guest chair, easily manoeuvring Solona into the seat. Cullen sank down into his own, trying to process this thorough invasion of his office.

"Are you alright?" Solona asked him while Zevran was silenced by a swig straight from the bottle.

"Yes, yes, just... very surprised. This was rather unexpected," he said, making a concerted effort to rouse himself from his daze. "Is there a reason you're here? N-not that I'm not glad to see you, I mean, but... it's rather odd to just drop in," he said, silently cursing at his returning stammer.

Almost ten years since he'd seen the woman, yet all his nerves just came rushing back at seeing her again.

Beside her, Zev sniggered, and Cullen had to suppress the urge to glare at the elf, or just throw him out of _his_ office.

Solona dug her elbow into Zevran's side, but her face grew sombre.

"Yes, I'm sorry to say. It may be... difficult to explain, but necessary. Do you have the time?"

Cullen glanced briefly at the paperwork strewn all over his desk, and the teetering piles on either side of it.

"Absolutely," he said, utterly serious. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Zevran give an approving nod. More importantly, however, Solona smiled.

"Thank you. I know full well that's a lie, but I appreciate it," she said.

Cullen nodded his thanks, setting aside the workaholic part of him that was groaning at the unscheduled loss of his day off.

"Where to start... " Solona sighed, staring down at her knotting hands. Slowly she began, not looking up from her lap.

"I've been having... odd dreams, lately," she said, and the fine hairs on Cullen's nape and arms stood up. From a mage, that was never a good thing to hear.

"Have you heard some of the tales they tell about me? Any of the ones that mention Morrigan, or a Witch of the Wilds?" She asked, apparently at random. Cullen hesitated, but nodded eventually. Another name Wynne had brought up, with a frown of distaste more often than not.

Solona nodded in relief.

"I've not seen Morrigan in, oh, over six years now. But she's been appearing to me in these dreams almost every night for the past few months," she said, frowning.

Zev passed her the bottle of brandy and she took a tiny sip, pulling a face immediately. Zev chuckled, and glanced up at Cullen while Solona recovered from her burning throat.

"Unfortunately this is not what it sounds like. Our dear, bad-tempered temptress, appearing in so many of Solona's dreams? I rather hoped there was a way _I_ could see them," the elf grinned, delighted at the belated flush that crept into Cullen's face as the templar cleared his throat.

"But alas, it seems our Witch of the Wilds is trying to warn us of some danger approaching. What she thinks could be worse than an Archdemon, I don't know," Zevran said, patting Solona's shoulder as she finally found her voice again, although it was slightly hoarse.

"I do," she rasped, "her mother."

Cullen frowned, confused.

"Her... mother?" He asked, sure he had misheard.

Sadly, Solona nodded.

"Flemeth. Yes, _that_ one," she said, catching his incredulous double-take.

"A charming woman, really," Zev mused, taking the brandy back and proffering it to Cullen. "Such a pity about the wings and scales."

Utterly bewildered, Cullen shook his head and held up an automatic, forestalling hand to the offered drink. Zevran shrugged and took another swig instead.

"Flemeth is very powerful, Cullen. She's neither mage, nor abomination, nor demon. She's a shapeshifter; able to take the form of a high dragon," Solona said, nodding briefly at Zevran to explain his odd comment.

"She is the only reason Alistair and I survived Ostagar. She rescued us from the Tower of Ishal as it was overrun by the darkspawn, and healed our injuries. She told her daughter, Morrigan, to aid us against the Blight. But some of the things we discovered about her; some of the things she was planning... we couldn't let it happen. So, despite the fact that she had saved us, Alistair, Zevran, Wynne and I returned to the Korcari Wilds. She turned into a dragon, but we killed her." Solona paused, her eyes dark and troubled.

Cullen mouthed wordlessly.

"You killed a folktale. A legend," he managed finally. Solona shrugged.

"We'd killed other high dragons; she did not fight any differently. But yes, we killed her, yet... she didn't actually die. Her body did; the skeleton is still there in the Wilds. But she's so powerful, she survived her own death. We're still not sure how, but the fact of the matter is, she's alive, and can still put whatever plans she has into action. How it will affect Thedas, I don't know, but I'm sure it will; one way or another. Perhaps this war is just the start of it."

Cullen started.

"The war? But what happened here had nothing to do with Flemeth. It was that apostate – that abomination," he said, frowning. It felt like he was doing that a lot lately.

Solona gave him a tired, taut smile.

"Yes, Anders. One of my men. I recruited him personally – had to conscript him to stop one of your more extreme comrades from killing him or making him Tranquil," she said, sighing heavily. "I was horrified when I heard what he'd done. Can't help thinking that if I'd been there, he wouldn't have merged with Justice, or if he had I would have been able to keep him under control," she murmured.

Zevran squeezed her shoulder gently, giving her a bracing smile when she looked up at him.

"Ah, _amora_, how could you have known? You were miles under the surface, aiding some ill-advised dwarven venture, no? The decisions – and betrayals – made while you were away are not your responsibility," he said, dropping his carefree facade for the first time Cullen had seen. The change didn't seem to surprise Solona, however. She just returned his smile with a weary one and clasped his hand silently in thanks.

She quickly cleared her throat, gathering her composure with practiced swiftness and returning to the subject.

"But we were discussing Flemeth, weren't we? I think that, either way, she was indirectly involved. Haven't you heard the rumours of how the Champion escaped Lothering? Even if she wasn't linked through my cousin, then she was through me. I may be clutching at straws here, but in saving me, Flemeth saved Anders when I conscripted him. That allowed him to go and do what he did. It's tenuous, I know," she said, bowing her head at Cullen's silent scepticism, "but I can't help but feel she is manipulating everything going on. I think the only thing that has taken her by surprise, or wasn't planned, was the Blight. Even there, I have my doubts," she muttered.

"So... you think Flemeth is involved in some huge, decade-long plan to... what? Conquer Thedas?" Cullen asked, unable to keep the incredulous note from his voice. From her wry smile, Solona had heard it.

"I have absolutely no idea. But I trust Morrigan, and she seems to think I am either in danger, or being targeted by something," Solona said, sounding oddly calm despite her worrying statement. Beside her, Cullen caught a flinty edge in Zevran's eyes, and for an instant saw the assassin behind the cheerful grin.

"It wasn't very clear, but she is obviously concerned. That's why I'm here, really," Solona said, shifting to reach her pocket.

She drew out a neatly folded letter, the parchment rich and heavy, the dark red seal already broken.

"This is a letter I received from the Sister I travelled with during the Blight; Leliana. She is a part of Divine Justinia's court now. She has asked to meet with me as soon as possible, and it sounds like it's about the war; I've already sent a reply saying that we will meet in two months time, back in Ferelden.

"I suspect Leliana will ask me to help forestall the coming war, or end it quickly should it flare up into open combat. A difficult task, but that's nothing new, though Amaranthine did not enamour me to politics. Now," she said; her focus sharpening. Cullen found himself sitting straighter in his chair, then wondering how the friendly, smiling apprentice had learned to command a person with a mere look.

"If whatever Morrigan is worried about does happen, especially before I get chance to meet Leliana, then there's always a chance the Chantry will be sent looking for me," she said, opening her mouth to continue but Zev jumped in before she could.

"And the Grey Wardens and a Royal search party too. You are a popular lady, my dear," he said, his customary leering grin back in place. Cullen bit his tongue and buried his short nails into his palms beneath the desk. It still wasn't easy to see someone else acting like that around her; whether lecherous or romantic or just _that close_.

To her credit, Solona just managed to hold back a smirk, but she patted Zevran's knee before continuing, some of the tension leaving her face.

"I've come to warn you that the Chantry may come here, to Kirkwall. Oh, not looking for me," she said, pre-empting Cullen's confused question. "But... now how to explain this. If the Chantry comes looking for me, and cannot find me, then they may start looking for... an alternative. Namely my cousin, Hawke," Solona said, smiling grimly when the realisation lightened Cullen's eyes.

"She's directly linked to what happened in Kirkwall, after all, and she has already proven herself a capable fighter. If she was the air that fanned the spark of the war; she might become the storm that extinguishes it; or so the Chantry would see it," Solona said.

"But the Champion hasn't been in Kirkwall since the war started; she left the same night that Meredith... died," Cullen said, hesitating. If being turned to what looked like a statue of corrupted gold was classed as dying then yes, Meredith was dead. There was still an eerie presence emanating from the statue, however, and it had resisted all attempts to remove it.

Very few people visited the Gallows nowadays.

Solona nodded, conceding the point.

"Yes, but this was the last place she was definitely seen, and she had many connections in the city. The Chantry will start their search for Hawke here if they cannot find me," she said firmly, utterly convinced.

Cullen paused, then nodded. Solona probably had more knowledge of these things, anyway. Even as Knight-Commander, Cullen wasn't privy to the interior workings of Divine search parties.

"If that happens, I may need your help," she continued, her eyes lowering. Her fingers twisted in on themselves in her lap; fidgeting nervously. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, especially since anything involving me tends to lead to danger and bloodshed, but I think it's necessary." Solona paused, waiting. Necessary or not, Cullen realised, she was still giving him the choice.

He bowed his head briefly, thinking.

This city was rife with trouble already; if he accepted, what more would he be bringing down on the remaining citizens? As Knight-Commander, it was his duty to protect the city... from all threats, magical or not. According to Solona, helping her would be like inviting more danger in to prey upon Kirkwall's people.

According to Solona, if what she suspected was right then that would happen everywhere on Thedas, regardless of what he said or not.

Then there was still that small voice in his core that quailed at the thought of hurting or disappointing her again.

With a heavy sigh, he lifted his head. Solona was still waiting patiently; taking the chance to glance around his office in curiosity.

Zevran, however, was watching him far too closely for Cullen's comfort.

Secure in the privacy of Solona's inattention, the elf lifted one pointed eyebrow, his eyes taking on that look of hard, solid chips of amber.

Cullen met his gaze tiredly, then gave a tiny, discreet nod.

Zevran's smile crept back, leeched of its humour this time, and an approving look invaded the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

Cullen suddenly felt oddly old, keenly aware of the furrows etching themselves in his brow, the lines stretching out from his eyes, the slight ache in his joints after a long day of training or slogging up and down the Wounded Coast.

They were all getting older, and one day that might kill them.

"Alright," he sighed, and Solona looked back, keenly attentive. "I'll help you. If it means fewer deaths overall... I'll help. Maker preserve us," he added in a weary mutter.

Solona sighed, her neat shoulders slumping for a moment in clear relief. Cullen hadn't even noticed the thin lines of tension in her frame until they relaxed.

"Thank you, Cullen. This means more than I can say; truly," she said, recovering enough to give him a warm smile that acted on him like a shot of whiskey on a cold day.

Cullen managed a weak smile in return.

"I'll probably regret this in a year or so; won't I?" He reflected tiredly. "Oh well. It's done now. What do you need of me?" He asked; keen to get back on a topic he could work with. It wasn't the most pleasant one, but he could cope with the talk of danger and death. Gratitude and soft smiles? Not so much.

Solona nodded, straightening again in response to their return to business. Zevran, conversely, leaned back against the back of Solona's chair again, one leg swinging nonchalantly.

"That's the thing; I'm not entirely sure. I know there is a possibility of _something_ happening to me, maybe soon, but I don't know any more than that. I don't know if Morrigan is planning on getting me out before that, or if she cannot do anything other than give me vague warnings through dreams. I don't know how this will tie into the war, if it does, if or how Flemeth is involved. All I have is suspicions. It's not much to go on, I realise," she said, catching the way Cullen's eyes closed tiredly in silent prayer.

"We're just ploughing forward right now; taking each day as it comes. All I'm asking is that you keep alert, and if anything happens to me... do what you can to help my cousin," she said.

Cullen hesitated, torn between asking something and assuming the answer for himself.

Solona noticed.

"What is it?"

He shifted uncomfortably, oddly reminded of being caught talking during the Chant when he was a new recruit.

"I just... by 'help', should I help the Chantry find your cousin, or send them the wrong way?" He asked, cautious. His instincts and training were telling him to aid the Chantry, but something about Solona's tone made him think she didn't trust them quite as much as he did.

Solona paused, an odd half-smile on her face.

"Ah. Well... " she said, one hand lifting to her mouth in thought. Cullen felt strangely pleased at having caught her off-guard.

"I... don't know, to be perfectly honest. I trust Leliana; I'd trust her with my life. But the Chantry itself... " she sighed, fidgeting again. "I'm a mage, Cullen, and I was glad to leave the Circle, even if it meant joining the Wardens. I don't agree with the Chantry on a lot of things, and I don't think they will see me or my cousin as people who could help. I think they would just see us both as a means to an end," she said, biting her lip.

Slowly, she shook her head.

"People like that wouldn't let us work to our full potential. That's the only reason we succeeded during the Blight; we had no one dictating what we could and couldn't do. We were desperate, we were hunted, and we had no rules to break. If they tried to constrain me or Hawke now, they'd only end up making things worse. If they leave us to deal with this on our own, we'll do far better, I think. So no, don't send the Chantry after either of us. If any of our friends come to you for aid, however, then help them in any way you can. You're acquainted well enough with mine and Hawke's stories to know who to trust, yes?" She asked, and Cullen nodded even though his heart was sinking slightly.

"Hawke's I know well, and I know the names of your group, but a few more details would be appreciated," he said, and Solona nodded.

"You'll have them," she promised, and Zevran slid off the arm of the chair, plucked a few pieces of parchment, Cullen's quill and inkwell from the desk, then headed for the window sill, seating himself comfortably and beginning to scribble. Cullen weathered this casual theft in dignified silence, figuring that complaining wouldn't get him anywhere, and he would probably be talked into giving up the paper and quill anyway.

"Will you need any details of Hawke's group?" Cullen asked. Solona started to speak, but paused when Zevran waved from the windowsill to grab their attention.

"I met them briefly a few years ago, and was there during the battle against Meredith. She makes quite the lovely focal point, doesn't she?" The assassin mused on one of his tangents, before returning to the real topic. "Isabela I know _very_ well- although not in recent years, my dear," he said when Solona coughed, grinning. She just waved at him to continue, laughing.

"Of course there's the Champion herself, the dwarf without a beard but with _remarkable_ chest hair, and then the tattooed elf with the big sword. I rather got the impression he and the Champion were involved. They were very awkward with each other, in any case. What is it with your family and elves, I wonder?" He asked, shooting Solona a sly grin.

"Whatever it is, it certainly isn't because of your winning charm and tact, love," she answered airily, and Zevran mimed a lethal hit to the heart.

"So cruel! Are you sure you haven't been spending time with Isabela? She's teaching you bad habits _amora_, and I'm not invited. Something is wrong with that picture, and it isn't the habits," he complained, but went on writing as he spoke.

"Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. I did not have the pleasure of meeting the others for very long – the middle of a fight to the death against a lyrium-empowered templar is not the best time to be making introductions, but I am certain I will recognise them on sight, and can match the right names to faces. Anything you have on their backgrounds, however, would indeed be useful."

Cullen nodded, although the elf's erratic jumps from comedic to serious were giving him a headache.

"Is there an address I can send the information to, or would you like it now?" He asked, turning hopefully to Solona in the search of some form of normalcy.

Thankfully, she nodded.

"We have a temporary residence at an inn near the docks; we'll be there for the next week. After that, we're heading back to Antiva. The Crows have been getting a little unruly again," she sighed, looking slightly put-out.

Cullen ran his hands over his face and through his hair, shaking his head. The woman treated _the_ most feared organisation of assassins in Thedas like misbehaving children.

"Yes, they have been quite naughty of late. I think a good spanking is in order, yes?"

The elf, on the other hand, treated them like misbehaving whores.

"You do that, dear, while I stop them trying to kill us. Again," Solona sighed, shaking her head. A small smile still played around her mouth, however.

"Aha! See how well we work together?"

"Less chatting, more writing please. I'm sure Cullen has things to do," Solona said, rolling her eyes. Cullen gave her a quick, grateful smile. Zevran chuckled darkly, but didn't object.

It was another fifteen minutes before the assassin eased himself off the window ledge and stretched, his back issuing several loud pops. Cullen and Solona had spent the time talking; Cullen describing the Champion and her exploits as well as he could at Solona's request.

"I want to know more about my cousin. My family," she had said, with an odd, proud little smile.

That had extended to talking about Bethany, then Leandra and the very little he knew of Malcolm and Carver. As he spoke, he slowly relaxed, his words coming easier. Oddly, having her hooked on his every word didn't make him stutter and blush the way it used to. Maybe because they were talking about something so... normal. It was a safe topic, really – her family. It helped that so much of it sounded like an adventure tale; High dragons, the Arishok, Meredith's demise. Even Zevran chipping in every now and then didn't perturb him too much.

Maybe, he thought – _hoped –_ he was starting to get over her.

By the time Zevran wandered over, Solona was almost beaming.

"It seems your family also has a knack for finding trouble," he said fondly, gently squeezing her shoulder before leaning to drop the few pages onto Cullen's desk.

Cullen automatically reached for them, half listening to Solona's quiet answer, but was soon struck by the quality of the sketches on the page.

He'd expected written descriptions, but these drawings were excellent. Small, but incredibly detailed. At a glance, the information beside each one was equally impressive.

"These are very good," he murmured, almost to himself.

Zevran laughed, giving Cullen a deep nod.

"The skills of a Crow are varied and many, my friend. Sometimes they even come in handy," he said, smiling.

"So it would seem," Cullen said in a weak, nervous attempt at civility. How did you respond to people whose main job was to kill people? Yes, Cullen had killed in his line of work, but he wasn't contracted to do so. There was a difference, right?

"If that's all, we should be going. We've kept you from your work long enough," Solona said with an apologetic smile, sighing and standing.

"No, no, it's no trouble. I'm, ah, I'm glad you came," he said, smiling but inwardly cursing the return of his stutter.

They all stood and made their goodbyes, shaking hands. Cullen was partly relieved; partly disappointed that Solona spared embracing him before she left. He might have ended up on the floor, comatose, the colour of the scarlet sash around Solona's waist.

As she and Zevran turned towards the door, Solona glanced back at him and smiled, soft and slightly shy.

"It was good to see you again, Cullen," she said, before following Zevran out the door.

"You too," he said quietly, watching the door swing slowly shut.

Two days later, he posted the information on Hawke's group to the Drunken Sailor on the docks. A brief note of thanks arrived the same day, but there was no further contact.

Cullen did what he could over the next year, putting out quiet searches for both groups. He got little more than rumours, but it was all he could do without being detected or focusing more on the search than on his duties.

It was a surprise, then, to be rudely shocked out of his daily routine one night in 9:40 Dragon.

He'd already retired for the night and found sleep several hours ago. The sound of a latch clicking and the window sliding open snapped him into wakefulness and his heart into a gallop.

He snatched up the sword resting beside his bunk and turned, blade first, towards the window.

It was a cloudy night, and a new moon to boot. Other than the distant ambient light from the city, he was blind.

"Who's there?" He demanded, waiting impatiently for his eyes to focus properly on the indistinct shape framed by the window.

The voice was tired and raw when it came.

"Lower your blade, Knight-Commander. I'm not here to kill you."

Cullen hesitated, long enough for the shadow to slip fully into the room and quietly close the window again.

"Zevran?" He ventured finally, still not lowering his guard.

"Yes. Light your taper and check, if you wish. I will wait," the voice said, followed by a rustle from across the room. The person sitting down in the only available chair, by the sound of it.

Slowly, Cullen obeyed, though he kept his sword resting beside him in readiness.

The flare of light blinded him for a moment, but when he had blinked the bright spots away and could force himself to squint for more than a few seconds, he glanced over to the chair, holding up a hand to block some of the light.

Sure enough, Zevran was slumped in the seat, looking worse than the Templar imagined he could have done.

His eyes were hollow, purple bags beneath them and red lining the rims. His face looked gaunt, his skin pale beneath the tan. There was no sign of the usual grin or carefree manner; he seemed folded in on himself, smaller.

Cullen stared for a moment, shocked.

A humourless smile cracked dry lips.

"I look quite a state, or so I am led to believe. Isabela certainly doesn't pull her punches," he said, an odd whispering edge to his voice that made Cullen think he'd recently lost it.

"What happened?" Cullen managed finally, hastily trying to stop staring.

At the question, Zevran's eyes glazed over again, and for a moment he could have been a corpse.

"She's gone. Solona is gone," he whispered, his hands clenching.

Cullen felt his stomach plummet.

"Gone? You don't mean...?" He asked through a suddenly dry throat and mouth.

Zevran barked a short, sharp laugh.

"Dead? No. No, our dear, sweet bitch of an apostate has shown me that much, at least," he snarled, head bowing and teeth flashing in the dim light.

Cullen gave up and stared, bewildered.

"What...?" he asked, shaking his head.

Zevran's eyes shot up to meet his, and his head slowly followed.

"Two months ago, when we were sleeping, Solona just...vanished. It was a strange night; I was trapped in one dream for the whole night, with Morrigan telling me that she could only take one, and that 'she' will be safe." The elf's knuckles flexed again, turning white.

"It was as vague as all of Solona's dreams had been thus far, even though I questioned the witch repeatedly. She didn't seem able to tell me any more," he said, grimacing.

Cullen could see the muscle in the other man's jaw stand on end, the tension lines spreading up to his temples.

"When I finally woke up, Solona was gone. Nothing was missing; the bedclothes weren't pulled back or straightened – it was as though she had simply vanished from beneath them. I searched the house, of course, but there was nothing. No note, no disturbance, no struggle. No blood."

"I spent the whole day combing Antiva City. It must have been near dawn before I returned home, thinking that maybe I would dream again, and get some clue as to what had happened," he said, shaking his head in disgust.

"Nothing. Vague flashes, maybe. Nothing I could work with. I spent the next month and a half doing the same, and making use of all my contacts; what else could I do? We knew something might happen to her, and that _maybe_, Morrigan might be able to help. We never thought we would be _separated_-" he stopped short, biting back his words, and possibly his tongue.

Cullen waited, almost frozen, and after a few seconds the elf began to speak again, in an odd, measured but disjointed rhythm, as though he was clamping down on some words as he spoke them.

"Then one night, a week and a half ago, I finally dreamt. I saw Morrigan, and Solona. There was just empty space around us, and a large mirror behind them. Morrigan said 'not long', and walked into the mirror. I tried to reach Solona, tried to pull her back out of the Fade with me, but I couldn't touch her," he said, his voice hoarse with grief.

"She seemed unharmed, but she was crying. She couldn't say much; she sounded so far away, even though I knew she was standing _right there_. All I could catch was that she was sorry, she hadn't known this would happen, and not to blame Morrigan. She mentioned her cousin, I think, but it didn't make much sense – her voice just kept getting fainter. We had a few seconds – it felt like half a minute, if that, and then she was gone, and I was awake."

He clasped his hands together as he leant further forward in the chair. Cullen wasn't sure in the unsteady light, but his hands may have been shaking.

"I set sail the next morning; bought my way onto a ship bound for Kirkwall at the last minute. I don't even know what I'm doing," he said with a helpless laugh, his hands leaping apart to rake through his hair. "All I can do is look for the Champion, and hope she has answers. I don't have any other leads," he said, dropping his hands and staring at them with wild eyes.

Cullen sat, eyes closed, trying to take it all in. Zevran was almost unhinged; he wasn't sure just how capable of carrying out a search the elf was in this state.

But he had promised.

With a sigh, Cullen opened his eyes and looked up, pulling his blankets back and reaching for his clothes.

"What do you need?" He asked as he stood and pulled on his trousers. Zevran looked up, uncomprehending for a moment, but then the question seemed to register and some life seemed to flare into the amber eyes.

"Anything. Everything. Everything you have on the Champion, or on who might know where she is now," he said as Cullen tugged on a shirt and boots.

Nodding, the templar stood, sheathing his sword and buckling it to his hip out of habit. It made him feel a bit more grounded to have the familiar weight at his side.

"Solona was right, at least. There are Seekers in the city; I think they have captured Varric for questioning. They've been in there for a couple of days, now," Cullen said as Zevran rose from the chair.

A barbaric smile flashed across the elf's face.

"Then I think we need to hear what's being said, yes? Where are they?" He asked, turning for the window.

"The old Amell estate, from my latest reports. Do you know it?" He asked. Zevran shook his head, and Cullen quickly relayed the directions from the docks. How the elf had reached the Gallows when no boats sailed at night Cullen didn't know, and didn't ask.

Zevran nodded, and without another word he opened the window and vanished from sight.

Cullen made his way to his office, nodding to his men and assuring them nothing was wrong; just insomnia.

Once there he began assembling all the contacts he thought he could make use of, and all the information he'd gathered over the past year about Marian Hawke and her group of ragtag friends.

Zevran didn't return for several hours, and when he did it was with a grim smile.

"The Champion of Kirkwall has also vanished without a trace, it seems. The dwarf doesn't know her whereabouts, however. He's been released, by the way. I cornered him on his way back to the tavern, and he was a little friendlier with me than the Seeker. He said if anyone would know about where Hawke had gone; it would be the tattooed elf. Fenris," he said, bringing the name back quickly as he paced Cullen's office.

The Knight-Commander had dismissed the guards in the corridor; no need to have them eavesdrop on something like this.

Cullen riffed through his notes, pausing several pages in.

"It looks like he and Hawke were last seen running for their lives from Antiva City's Templars, and into the Arlathan Forest. It seems they escaped...wait," at his pause, Zevran stopped swearing in Antivan, presumably out of regret for leaving the city in the wrong direction.

"No, today's missive – I'd not had chance to read it yet – said that a few days after the search was abandoned, a 'lone, oddly-marked elf' was seen in heading south, as though away from the forest. A few small towns and villages had seen him moving through; he's stopped only for food, or a room for the night, then kept on walking. There's nothing in between these villages and the forest; that's what they thought was so odd. They – oh, really?" He muttered to himself, treating the paper to a raised eyebrow and grimace of disbelief.

"What?"

Cullen snorted, shaking his head and gesturing with the paper.

"They included in the report that the villagers thought he was a ghost from Arlathan itself. The things people will believe..." he muttered.

A low breath of air that might have been the corpse of a laugh drew his attention.

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss ghosts, my friend. I assure you, they are quite real. Admittedly, if he's stopping to eat and sleep, he's makes a very poor ghost, but still," Zevran shrugged, moving forward and taking the papers from Cullen's unresisting hands as the Templar gaped at him, mouthing wordlessly like a fish.

"This report was from...three days ago. He may have covered a fair distance in that time," Zevran mused, utterly ignoring Cullen's failed or aborted attempts to speak.

The elf was tense, muscles flickering as though he was about to move to the door, only to decide against it and stay put. "Part of me wants to go and meet him on the road, but...I have contacts I can make use of here, as well as Varric and Isabela – she's returned, did I say? Apparently the young elf mage is with them – Merrill, yes?"

He dithered for a moment longer, staring down at the pages in his hands with blank eyes before he gave a tight, pained nod and turned towards the door.

"I will go and speak with Isabela and the others. They may know something I do not," he said, dropping the missive back on the desk.

Cullen finally retrieved his swallowed tongue in the return of reason and common sense.

"It's the middle of the night, Master Tethras has been interrogated for two days straight, and you look ready for the pyre; never mind keeling over," he argued.

Zevran glanced back over his shoulder, a quizzical lift to his visible eyebrow, his lips a thin line of impatience.

"Yes, I am aware. And?"

"_And_," Cullen said, starting to lose his own temper even though he could tell the elf wasn't winding him up. Zevran genuinely didn't see what was wrong with going out and continuing his work when he was starting to weave where he stood. "You need rest. Master Tethras needs rest. Void, _I_ need rest. We will all be here in the morning, we will all be far more _cooperative_ after a few hours sleep, and you might live for a few days longer," he snapped.

"This cannot wait!" Zevran said, turning sharply on his heel to face the Knight-Commander, teeth flashing in the light of the lamp Cullen had lit hours ago.

"Yes, it can," he said, forcing his voice into a semblance of calm and lifting his hands to quell and request patience. Agitating the elf further wouldn't get him anywhere except a knife in the throat.

"I know; you don't want to waste a second. _I understand_, but realistically, what can we get done right now? It's the middle of the night, the others will probably be sleeping, and you won't earn yourself any favours if you drag them out of bed to strategise when _you_ are barely standing yourself. Just because you don't want me to, doesn't mean I'm not making sense, Zevran," he said, slowly lowering his hands.

The assassin stood there, glaring, but finally the trembling tension seemed to flood out of him, running down his shoulders and back and legs, leaving him slumped, eyes closed.

One hand rose, pinched the bridge of his nose and shaded his eyes for a moment.

"Fine," he muttered, waving the hand and turning wearily away. "Fine. I will go and find an inn for what is left of the night. When and where shall I meet you?"

A small ripple of surprise tickled its way up Cullen's spine at automatically being included in the group, but he answered quickly and steadily.

"At the docks, tenth bell. That's the earliest I can get away," he said, holding up appeasing hands again at the filthy look Zevran shot him over his shoulder.

"Very well, Knight-Commander. I will meet you then," he sighed, and left the room almost silently.

Cullen sank down into his chair, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

What had he gotten himself into?


End file.
